


Signed, Sealed, Delivered - I'm Yours

by ForRomance



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Babies, Doctors, M/M, Meddling Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4713716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForRomance/pseuds/ForRomance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Featuring meddlesome friends, potentially illegal use of the Royal Mail data systems (and complete falsification of how the Royal Mail works, sorryyyy), the kinds of coincidences that only happen to fic characters, and hints of crack fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signed, Sealed, Delivered - I'm Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whyamimakingthis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyamimakingthis/gifts).



> Errr this is late. Again. I need to stop pinch-hitting.
> 
> But here is the original prompt - not including the whole thing to avoid giving away some plot points. I hope you enjoy... sorry that it went a bit sideways! My hands know not what they write.
> 
> PROMPT: One of the boys works for UPS or FedEx or some delivery service and the other is an obsessive online shopper who lives in a halfway decent flat on some sort of salary. The flat owner thinks the delivery man is fit and keeps ordering packages to be delivered and trying to look great and seduce him. [Further requests redacted to avoid spoiling the plot!]
> 
>  
> 
> Featuring meddlesome friends, potentially illegal use of the Royal Mail data systems (and complete falsification of how the Royal Mail works, sorryyyy), the kinds of coincidences that only happen to fic characters, and hints of crack fic. Ziam if you squint.
> 
> Basically, suspend your disbelief, my friends.

“Right.” _Breathe in, 2, 3, 4 - breathe out, 2, 3, 4._ “But as I said, I don’t _live_ in Holmes Chapel anymore, so I can’t _go_ to the local branch to pick up the package.”

48 minutes into the most circular phone conversation of his life, Harry Styles is beginning to doubt the value of the “do no harm” philosophy he’s adopted as his own.

“Sir, it is against our policy-” Harry plunks his head down on the kitchen table and mouths the words he’s heard six times now along with the delivery operator “- to remove ‘failed delivery’ packages from their local branch site.”

Harry sighs.

“Sir?”

“Can I speak to your supervisor, please?” His breath rebounds off the wood grain back into his face, the screen of his phone getting foggy and moist. _Yuck_.

“Sir, I can’t hear you. Can you repea-”

He jerks back up. “Can I speak to your supervisor, please?” He makes sure to enunciate before gently clunking his forehead down again.

“Yes, I can get my supervisor for you. Do you mind if I place you on a brie-”

“Fine.”

The line switches to a tinny rendition of “Thriller,” and Harry’s pretty sure his brain turns to mush.

He moved to London three weeks ago from his hometown of Holmes Chapel. He’d stayed up north for most of his schooling, reticent to leave home just yet when a bioengineering degree in Manchester was a suitable enough foundation for a future in medicine. But now that he was down south and starting training at St. Mary’s Hospital the following Monday, he was excited for the start of what felt like his real life.

Unfortunately, living here the last three weeks without three-quarters of his belongings was severely delaying that start.

His mum had shipped the majority of his bedding, clothing, tchotchkes and medical books so he could come to London with just the bag on his shoulder and crash on friends’ couches until he found a permanent place. Now that he’d found his new flat, he just wanted to decorate and add his belongings, make it feel like an actual home.

Apparently that was an impossible task, if the Royal Mail had anything to say about it. 

“Hello, Harry Styles, is it?” The sound of a bright, new voice lifts Harry’s head from the table.

“Yes, hello.”

“I’m Jamie’s supervisor, Louis. How are you?”

Harry debates an answer adhering to his innate politeness versus the apparent need for force required by this situation. The latter wins out.

“Honestly, Louis, not great,” he huffs.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Harry. What seems to be the problem?”

Down goes Harry’s head. He winces and realizes he’s definitely giving himself a migraine. But, no, it’s definitely the Royal Mail’s fault. Maybe he can sue if he ends up concussed.

He launches into his now-perfectly-worded tirade:

“As I was discussing with Jamie, I understand my package was not able to be delivered to my flat because I was unavailable for signature, although I had specified that no signature was required and left a note to that effect. My package has since been returned to the branch it was shipped from in Holmes Chapel, and I’m being told I need to go there in person to pick it up and that I can’t appoint anyone else to pick it up for me, nor can your team reship it to me. I don’t live in Holmes Chapel anymore and cannot go there to pick it up. I just need the package reshipped and left at my flat in London.”

The only response he gets is the faint clacking of keys.

“Hello?”

“Yeah? Oh- uh, we’re sorry for the inconvenience, sir.”

Harry rolls his yes. “Yes, thanks. So is there a solution here?”

More key clacking. “So you can’t go to Holmes Chapel?”

Harry actually bites his tongue and has to inhale and exhale deeply again before answering.

“ _No._ ”

“Right.” The typing abruptly ends. “Can you be available at 4 PM today?”

“I- yes?” 

“I will personally deliver your package, how does that sound?”

“Uh, yes, please.” Harry sits up straight. “How-?"

“Better not to ask, Mr. Styles. 4 PM, yes?”

“4 PM,” Harry repeats in shock.

“I’ll see you then. Anything else I can do for you today?”

“Uh, no, thank you.”

“Thank you for shipping with the Royal Mail, Mr. Styles. See you at 4 PM.”

“See you.” 

The line clicks off.

Harry still feels somewhat blindsided. That was, well, _suspiciously_ easy. Frankly, he won’t believe it really _was_ that easy until his package is sitting in his new living room… but he supposes 7 hours isn’t too long to wait at this point.

\--

“ _Oh, the taste of your lips, I’m on a riiiiide. You’re toxic, I’m slipping unde-“_

“ _LOU."_  

Louis Tomlinson stops singing and reaches out to turn down the volume control on the car radio, simultaneously shooting his companion a glare.

“Zayn, we have another hour to Holmes Chapel. I have to entertain us somehow.”

“You really, really don’t,” Zayn snipes back. He leans his head back against the window.

“Little baby Zayner wants to nap?” Louis wheedles.

“Shut. Up,” Zayn groans back.

Louis just sticks out his tongue and turns the volume back up, ignoring the muttered response of _real mature._ He doesn’t turn it all the way back up, anyway. Pissing off a sleepy Zayn will make for a miserable next four weeks.

For two weeks now, Louis and his mate Zayn Malik have been fulfilling the requirements of the “on-shift” rotation in the Royal Mail’s executive track program. Admittedly, Louis thought coming in with a business degree would mean no delivering packages. He’s the type who gets fidgety during long car rides, so hours of driving around London was not his preferred day job.

But the track to executive requires experience with all facets of the business, Mr. Cowell tells them, so he and Zayn were assigned to six weeks of supervisory shifts and fulfilling special tasks in order to both get hands-on delivery experience and avoid interrupting the regular services route.

Thus, they are currently on a six-hour round trip to Holmes Chapel and back to London to pick up this bloke’s “failed delivery” package.

Theoretically it’s a good thing that they don’t have to drive the standard monstrous van to do so, but Louis was actually really excited for that bit. They do, however, have to wear the bloody uniforms – and only the extras, not pieces in their sizes. That he was less excited about.

Oh, well. He can make his own excitement.

“ _My anaconda don’t, my anaconda don’t_ -“

“ _LOU.”_  

 --

At 3:55 PM, Harry can’t help but start peeking out the window.

It would be almost comical if he weren’t so uncharacteristically pissed off. He even started seriously contemplating just buying all new clothes only a few days ago.

He likes to think he’s a patient sort, not to mention economical, so these were truly desperate times.

He’s interrupted from his window-skulking by the ringing of his telephone, and noticing his mum’s smiling eyes in the contact picture, answers with a prepared response.

“Hi, Mum. I actually-“

“Hi, sweetheart! How are you?” Her tone is overly saccharine and sympathetic. Apparently his misery has been a bit too obvious the past few weeks.

“I’m good, I’m actually waiting for that package right now, so-“

“Oh, that’s _great_!” Her enthusiasm matches that of any piece of big news he’s had all his life, from school acceptances to not tripping during his first football match. _Has he really complained that much about this package thing? Yikes._  

“Yeah, the guy on the phone said he’d be here-“ And just then, the doorbell rings. “At 4. Wow. I think that’s him.” On the dot, actually. He starts walking to the door.

“I’ll let you go then, honey. Call me later, yeah?” 

“’Course, Mum. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She makes her usual kissing noises, which he parrots as he opens the door, preparing to hang up – but promptly dropping the phone instead.

As it turns out, he’s just inadvertently air-kissed the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

Before him is a fluffy-haired, blue-eyed, tanned specimen of the perfect human being.

The top of the man’s head just barely reaches Harry’s nose. His angled cheekbones give his small face a pixie-like appearance. He’s also swimming in the standard Royal Mail jacket of red and black, sleeves rolled up but still only skimming his wrists.

“Well, that’s quite a greeting.”

Harry fish-mouths.

The man crouches down, gently setting a large package before Harry and swooping up his dropped cellphone.

“No damage, that’s good,” he says as he reaches the hand with the phone in it towards Harry.

After a long moment, the man’s brow furrows.

“Y’alright, mate?”

At that, Harry realizes he has yet to say a single word, and finally attempts to do so as he takes the phone from the man’s grasp.

“Uh, yes, yeah. Sorry about that. I was- my mum-“

“Ah, mums,” the man intercedes with a chuckle. “They are fond of the air kisses, aren’t they?”

Harry squawks in response – and immediately claps a hand over his mouth in horror. _Was that supposed to be a laugh?_ He’s never made that sound before in his life.

But the man before him doesn’t shrink away in terror, thank god – he just giggles.

Oh. He even giggles beautifully.

“I’m Louis, and I’m here to deliver your package,” the man – Louis – says brightly through the last of his giggles. He immediately claps his hand to his forehead. “Oh my god, that totally sounded like a line from a porno. Sorry.”

Harry manages an actual giggle this time rather than another inhuman noise. “It kind of did.”

“Uh, yeah,” Louis is now scratching the back of his head, a flush high on his cheeks. “New on the job, y’know?”

“Oh, no worries. I won’t like, report you to your boss or anything.”

Louis’ eyes widen and he makes his own kind of squawking laugh and doubles over with a hand on his stomach.

Harry is frankly confused – it wasn’t _that_ funny – but he giggles a bit, too. A sympathetic response, really.

“Anyway,” he tries once Louis seems to have calmed down. “All good with the package then?”

“Y-yeah,” Louis chuckles out. His hand is still rising and falling on his stomach, but he finally gets himself under control with a big exhale. “Whew. Yeah. Here it is!” He gestures between their feet.

“All good, then?" 

“All good, mate. _Harry_.”

As he says Harry’s name, Louis gives him this _brilliant_ smile, this ear-to-ear grin with his pointy little white teeth.

 _That’s quite nice_ , Harry thinks to himself.

“Thanks, then. _Louis_.” He attempts his own big smile - “the charming one,” his sister Gemma calls it.

Louis’ eyes crinkle softly as his own smile goes even wider. “Anything to make our customers smile. That’s the motto.”

Harry thinks to an advertisement for the Royal Mail he walked by just the other day. “Isn’t it ‘Best and most trusted’?”

“Well." Louis seems flustered, but finds words again quickly. "It’s my personal motto, really. Anything to make you smile – you, being the customers, of course,” he finishes in a rush.

“Right.” Harry nods, his own small smile still playing across his lips.

“Right.” Louis nods back. 

“Well, thanks, then.”

“No problem. Enjoy your package.”

“Thanks.”

Louis gives a little wave and turns around springily. Harry can’t help but watch him go, catching him readjusting the very large jacket as he reaches the end of the walkway. It lifts up enough to showcase what looks like quite a nice bum, squished into very tight black trousers.

Of course, Louis glances back at that precise moment, and Harry can see the realization dawn in his eyes that Harry has been staring so inappropriately. They widen, and then squint evilly before Louis turns back around and sways his hips from side to side.

Harry hurriedly ducks down to pick up the package and back into his foyer, falling back against the door with a huff.

Never again is he using the Royal Mail.

\--

The first day of training is a whirlwind of blood pressure cuffs, mothers of all ages, and an unfortunate incident involving a diaper that Harry is doing his best to forget as their shift draws to a close. Unfortunately his new acquaintances are making that difficult.

“I mean, they tell you this job can be shit, but-" the rambunctious blond named Niall breaks off his own joke to cackle loudly.

“Niall, let off, come on,” interjects Liam.

In the 12 action-packed hours in which they’ve become a trio, Harry has realized that Liam resembles nothing more than a lumberjack with his scruff and stoicism, but has proven to have the mannerisms of a puppy eager for love. Niall is a constant source of noise, movement and humor but answered every one of the supervising doctor’s questions more quickly and accurately than the rest of the trainees combined. Overall, Harry’s happy with his choice of companions thus far.

“’S’okay.” Harry waves off Liam’s protests with the hand not clutching a wet nap as they follow along behind the doctor and other trainees. “Had to happen some time.”

“Yeah, and Harry knows I’m just teasing, don’t ya?” Niall elbows him. He immediately retracts his arm with a grimace upon coming into contact with the wet nap.

Liam and Harry burst into laughter.

“Serves you right!”

Harry and Niall look at Liam with mouths agape in faux shock.

“Wow.”

“Didn’t expect such harshness from you, Payne.”

He sticks his tongue out in response, but quickly sets his face into an approximation of “serious medical professional” at a scathing backwards glance from one of the other trainees.

They clump together with the others as the supervising doctor gives a few stale statements of encouragement and warning about the trials and opportunities that await them in the training period. Liam’s face gets even more serious, which Harry had scant imagined possible.

He tunes in again as the doctor hands the reins back to their orientation lead, who had walked them through paperwork and the like earlier that day.

“Before you go – I forgot to mention this morning that we’re switching out scrub providers,” he calls loudly over the chattering trainees, handing out a sheaf of papers. “In the next 48 hours, fill out this form with your color and pattern selections. They should arrive at your address on file within the next one to two weeks via Royal Mail.”

At that, Harry groans under his breath.

Unfortunately, it turns out to not have been as inaudible as he’d hoped. The orientation lead raises an eyebrow in his direction as the other trainees look around in search of the source of the noise.

“Problem?”

“Uh, no. Sorry.”

Liam and Niall dig their elbows into either side of him, and he mirrors the move in retaliation. Niall throws himself into the crowd of trainees scattering for the locker rooms, successfully dodging Harry’s elbow, and shouts, “Drinks down the road in 20!"

“What was that about?” Liam questions, unmoving but rubbing at his ribs. “If you don’t mind me asking, I mean.”

Harry sighs and gives Liam a once-over. He seems the levelheaded, trustworthy sort. Probably gives good advice.

“I’ll tell you at the pub. Come on,” he says, and leads the way to the locker room.

\-- 

“… seeing is that there are revenue streams that are not recurring. Increasing account renewals will ensure recurring, sustained revenues. I envision a platform that will…”

Louis battles the downward drag of his eyelids for the umpteenth time. This bloke presenting a new system for managing long-term accounts is, no bones about it, dull and unfit for anything but metering out tickets at the Tube station. Louis swears by that assessment; he’s a great judge of character. This guy should not be in marketing if he’s making people fall asleep.

Zayn, who is also perpetually dozing off in meetings, is staying awake by keeping his hands busy. He’s created a scaly, broad-winged dragon on his notepad with black and red biro.

“Thank you, Daniel.” Mr. Cowell’s booming voice breaks into Louis’ wandering thoughts. “We’ll discuss with our team whether this solution is viable for the Royal Mail.”

The marketing guy nods and starts thanking them for their time. Mr. Cowell doesn’t even look back at him though, just stands and walks out of the conference room.

This is not the first time he’s chosen to leave so dramatically, so the executive trainees – Louis and Zayn included – know to follow after him post-haste.

The marketing guy’s eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth open as if mid-word as the room empties, and Louis takes pity on him.

“Thanks for the presentation, mate.” He claps the guy on the shoulder and follows after Zayn out the door. 

They manage to catch up with Cowell and the other trainees before Cowell can start making snarky comments about why he’s paying them to have their thumbs up their arses. After coming in one minute late from a smoke break a few weeks into the program, they’ve never made the mistake of “wasting his time and money with their stupidity and laziness” again.

“Tomlinson – thoughts?”

 _I can never escape_ , Louis muses. He decides a mixture of honesty and bullshit will have to get him through this one.

“Frankly, I could barely pay attention. His presentation was lacking.”

Cowell nods. “Agreed.” And then walks off. This time as he leaves he throws back a dismissive hand before any of the trainees can follow after him, his trademark “I’m done with you, go away now” gesture. He had said the same the first time he used the gesture, and no one had forgotten it since.

As is often the case, he leaves a bewildered crowd of trainees in his wake – Louis most of all, as he contemplates the phenomenon of Simon Cowell agreeing with something he said.

“What just happened? Am I dreaming or did he just agree with something I said?” He turns to Zayn dazedly.

“You’re becoming the next Simon Cowell, apparently.”

Louis suppresses a shudder. “Don’t say that. I’d like to avoid selling my soul for a little while longer, thanks,” he mutters as they head towards the systems room for their supervisor shifts.

Zayn shakes his head. “If you hate this so much, why are you doing it?”

“I don’t _hate_ it,” Louis protests. “But it’s not what I want to do with my life. I’m gonna build up my savings and get enough experience under my belt to quit and start… something. Something else to do where I’m in control of the schedule and what meetings I take and stuff like that.”

“So, like Simon Cowell.”

“ _No._ ”

“Sorry!” Zayn holds up his hands defensively.

“Sorry, no, sorry. I just – I’m not going to be like him, but I am going to be in charge of – _some_ thing. Something that I like and that’s important. I just don’t know what yet.” They walk in silence a few steps more. “You don’t seem to want to be here, either, so…”

Zayn shrugs. “Well, I’m kind of in the same boat as you.”

“But you’ve got the tattooing.” 

“But I’m still here, yeah?”

Louis grabs his arm, drawing him to a stop. “You’re so good, Zayn. You know that, right?”

Zayn just shrugs. He’s never been one for emotional conversations, nor ones that focus on how brilliant he is. Louis switches tacks.

“Is that dragon for someone?” 

“Nah, just for fun.” Zayn tugs him back into motion – their supervising shift started the minute Cowell walked off, so they’re technically late at this point. “You think it could be?”

“For someone? Yeah. Yeah, totally. I’d get that on me.”

“I’ll think about it,” Zayn responds as they swipe into the service routing room. “Smoke in 30?”

“You’re on.”

Louis settles into the squeaky chair in the temporary office assigned to him and signs into the system on the desktop there. The office sort of separates him from the routing crew, visible in their cubicles through the all-glass wall before him, and it only adds to the trapped feeling he’s had since starting at the Royal Mail.

Most days, he's content with his current situation. He knows that by making as much money as he can as early as he can, he can fund the things he wants and needs to do – like starting a business and a family.

But when he’s staring at a computer for six to eight hours a day in a glorified postman job, it’s hard to feel like it’s worth it.

He clicks around the system checking for red flags in routing crew activity or up-leveled entries that require supervisor intervention and will be entered into his queue to handle, as is start-of-shift protocol. Any items sorted into that queue can only be handled by him or up-leveled further to the senior managers, so they take priority. But there’s nothing awaiting him, so watching the scrolling queue of new entries tick by is simple enough and mind-numbing enough that he can keep his other eye on his Twitter feed via his phone.

He glances up from a series of social justice retweets that are getting progressively more extreme, and his eyes suddenly catch on the name and address beside a _Scheduled for Delivery_ entry listed on his screen.

 _Harry Styles, 142 Regents Park Road, NW1_ , he reads.

 _Cute boy_ , his brain tells him.

And without thinking it through, he moves the mouse and clicks _Assign to Me._  

 _Harry Styles_ flickers off of the main system queue and appears on his own priority queue.

As his finger releases from the click, his heart jolts into the front of his chest and his stomach twists. His throat prickles like he could get sick at any moment.

“Holy shit,” he mutters to himself.

Here’s the thing: They went through a very serious training and signed multiple documents asserting that they would not abuse access to personal information in the Royal Mail systems.

Personally handling a delivery because it’s a cute boy? Definite abuse of access to personal information.

“ _Fuckfuckfuckfuck._ ”

He lifts his hands off of the mouse and keyboard – as if that could take him back in time and prevent this _horrific, stupid, possibly-resulting-in-getting-sacked_ move. 

The entry has to be either resolved as _Out for Delivery_ or up-leveled for approval from a more senior manager; he can’t just move the entry back into the main stream of delivery entries.

It’s a smart system of checks and balances - except for when he has screwed up royally and doesn’t want anyone to know.

Maybe he can ask Zayn- No. That would be like making him an accomplice, wouldn’t it?

He’ll just – he’ll just handle it. He’ll just deliver the package and that will be the end of it. Then he will never pay attention to this Harry Styles again. Maybe he won’t even be there when Louis goes to deliver the package.

Louis slowly lowers his hand back to the mouse. He shifts the pointer to the rightmost option:

_Out for Delivery_

And clicks.

\-- 

“Go ahead and start without me!” Harry shouts from his kitchen.

He hears Niall and Liam squabbling over who gets which team in FIFA as he piles a tray with bread slices and charcuterie. 

(Niall gave him shit for using the word “charcuterie” when he invited them over after their night-to-morning shift for their first normal friend hangout not involving alcohol. But now he seems too excited by the prospect of food and games to care about what he calls Harry’s “poshness,” so Harry isn’t too bothered.)

The stress and natural camaraderie borne of attempting to save lives together has bonded them rapidly. The other trainees actually call them the Three Musketeers (some with a bit more bitterness than humor, but Harry thinks they’re just jealous). 

He’s just glad to have made friends out here. He’s an adventurous type, really, but London is quite big. So he could easily have become a small town boy lost in the city, no real connections made, nothing to do but sit at home with a cat for company.

He might still get a cat.

“What do you think about me getting a cat?” He asks as he walks back into the living room with their refreshments. 

Liam pauses the game, Niall squawking in protest.

“Are you a cat person, then?”

Harry shrugs as he plops onto the couch.

“I like cats and dogs equally, I think. It’d just be nice to have a furry face to come home to.”

Liam nods. Niall, now mid-sandwich construction, adds, “Since our shifts are all over the place you’d get to spend time with it during the day and night, though it’d be a weird schedule. But they don’t mind being alone too much.”

“True.”

“Are you, like… lonely here?” Liam asks tentatively. “I was a bit, when I first moved.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s somewhat relieved not to be the first one to bring it up. “How’d you deal with it?”

“I just put myself out there,” Liam says. He eyes the gouda before settling on Swiss to add to his layered turkey sandwich. “Online dating, meet-ups, stuff like that.”

“Online dating, eh?” Niall says through a mouthful. “Any good prospects?”

Liam looks down, a shy twist to his mouth.

“Oooh,” Harry croons. “Who’s the lucky person?”

Liam finally looks up with a small smile, and then he’s absolutely gushing. “He’s – ugh, so fit. His profile picture is him shirtless – which, like I used to think was so pretentious but we got to talking and – it’s weird to say but he seems actually kind of newly self confident, like, and most of his pictures are him with family and some of his tattoos. He’s a freelance tattoo artist, too, which is so–"

He’s cut off by the chime of Harry’s doorbell.

“Hold that thought.” Harry sets down his plate and pops off the couch.

“Let me see that pic, eh?” Niall’s voice drifts to him as he approaches the front door.

“Hey, no nudes before I'm back!” He yells – and doesn’t realize he’s already twisted the knob and pulled open the door before finishing the sentence.

And of course, of all the people to hear him shouting about being without clothes, it’s the hot delivery guy from the other week.

“Oh.” He stands before Harry with a shocked sort of expression, blue eyes wide. In his hands is a plastic-bagged package.

“Uh, I’m- that wasn’t-"

“No, it’s none of my-" 

“My friends are just being stupid and I-"

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They both abruptly go silent, standing before each other without looking away.

The delivery guy – Louis, Harry remembers (and then wonders why he did) – blurts out, “I didn’t expect to see you here in the middle of the day.”

"Uhm... What?”

“I mean-" He’s talking so fast and Harry can literally see the whites of his eyes, they're so wide. “Most people are working in the middle of the day during the week, so I don’t expect to see people. Delivery recipients.” 

“I’m not, like- I work. I work in a hospital, actually. Odd shifts,” Harry explains. For some reason he’s very aware that he’s come off like a prat in their past interactions – complaining about his package, making exaggerated kissing noises at his mum.

“I didn’t mean-" Louis seems to make himself pause to take a deep breath, and his eyes relax a fraction. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you don’t work, I was just caught off-guard.”

Harry feels his own tension drain away a bit. “Oh.”

“What do you do at the hospital?” Louis asks with somewhat forced casualness. (Harry can’t blame him – they haven’t had a normal conversation yet.) “Are you, like a surgeon?”

“I do obstetrics, actually, like-"

“Babies!” Louis breaks into a grin. “My mum was a midwife.”

Harry smiles in response. “That’s awesome! I’m thinking about that as, like, an eventual career path.”

“It’s amazing.” Louis nods fervently. “My mum loved working with the other mums and babies.”

“I just started my training at St. Mary’s, and it’s great.”

“St. Mary’s.” Louis snaps his fingers. “Isn’t that where the royal babies go to be born?”

Harry crinkles his nose playfully. “I couldn’t possibly say.” He attempts to close one eye in a wink, but realizes quickly he just looks like his face has collapsed. He feels his cheeks heat up.

Louis is still beaming at him. Then he seems to remember his purpose for being at Harry’s door with a glance down at his hands, still holding the package.

“Oh! This is for you.” He extends the package, and Harry takes it and cuddles it into his body. Really, he just wants to cover his face but that would make his awkwardness too apparent.

“Thanks. Thanks so much.” And suddenly Harry is bending forward at the waist, package now tucked into his armpit, hands held together like he’s praying. _What are you doing?_ He thinks desperately to himself.

“No worries.” And Louis is chuckling, obviously at how stupid Harry is.

This is why Harry will remain alone forever, he just knows it.

“Well, bye then.” Louis steps back and gives a little wave. 

“Bye,” Harry squeaks. He fumbles his way back inside and groans at himself. 

“Harry?” A concerned voice rings out.

He’s completely forgotten that Liam and Niall are still here. He walks back into the living room, package still clutched tight under his arm.

Niall looks up from the TV as he enters, and his face immediately shifts from general acknowledgement to confusion.

“Mate, you okay?”

“What? I’m fine.”

“You’re bright red,” Liam contributes, waving his controller in the direction of Harry’s face.

Harry emits a pitiful whine and rushes to the loo. 

His face is indeed flushed like he has the flu. He looks overwrought and tired and anxious all at once – a total wreck.

Two faces appear over the reflection of his shoulders in the mirror.

“What happened?” Niall asks. “You okay?”

Harry throws his arms over his face and slumps forward onto the counter. 

“Ih woes thar telifeyee aie.”

“What? You’re mumbling, mate,” Liam prompts, dropping a gentle hand to his shoulder.

Harry tilts his head floppily out of the cradle of his arms.

“It was that delivery guy I told you about,” he says pitifully. “And I acted like a total knob again.”

“Aw, Harry!” They shuffle forward and encircle him with their arms, proper mother hens.

A few midday beers later, Harry has recounted the story of his awkwardness. Niall mostly laughs through the whole thing, along with providing additional alcohol, while Liam attempts to analyze Louis’ behavior as well.

(Their eyes had both gone quite wide when Harry had said his name, evidently shocked at how deep he’d gotten already to know the guy's name. He just groaned and hid his head again until they poked and prodded him to continue.)

Liam concludes his analysis with: “… but I’m shit with picking up on flirting, so…”

Niall, who had been tapping the mouth of his beer bottle against his chin, sets the bottle down on the table – on one of his designated coasters, Harry notes with absentminded satisfaction.

“You need to see him again,” Niall asserts.

Harry starts shaking his head.

“No, nope. I’m an embarrassment. I’m never using the Royal Mail again. Or answering the door.”

“At least you got your cute hedgehog scrubs! That’s a plus.” Liam points out the contents of the package that started it all, now laid out across Harry’s lap.

“Louis looks like a hedgehog,” Harry mumbles.

Niall and Liam glance at one another before Niall gently reaches forward to extract the scrubs, Liam the beer bottle, from Harry’s grasp.

He just sighs and slumps back on the couch.

Liam gives him a small, sad smile, looking down with sympathy at Harry as he stands.

“I’m sorry but I’ve got to go, I’ve got to get ready for that date. Will you be okay?”

Harry sighs again and nods.

“I’ve got Niall. And beer. And hedgehogs.”

“And FIFA!” Niall exclaims when Liam looks at him with some desperation. “Let’s play a game, yeah?”

“’kay.” Harry picks up a controller. “Can I be United?”

Liam calls goodbye to them as he exits, looking somewhat less concerned. 

Niall pats Harry’s leg.

“Sure you can, buddy.”

\--

Louis sips miserably at his gin and tonic. He’s been uncharacteristically silent since Zayn met up with him at the bar, and Zayn has taken to sending him worried looks. 

“Lou?” 

He grunts. 

“What’s up with you? You’re acting like more of a twat than usual.”

Louis shoots him a glare, which goes even harsher when he sees the self-satisfied smirk beaming from Zayn for getting a reaction from him.

“You’re the twat,” he grumbles, slurping at the watered-down remains of his drink before gesturing at the bartender for another.

“Come on. What’s up?”

Louis sighs and internally debates the ethics of telling Zayn exactly what’s up. When they first became true friends and got stupendously drunk together in uni, they assured each other in slurred words and sloppy hugs that they’d be friends through thick and thin.

Maybe they can bunk together in prison.

He sighs again.

“I did something stupid." 

“Shocking.” 

“Would you like me to tell you or not?”

Zayn pretends to lock his mouth and throw away the key. Louis rolls his eyes but continues anyway.

“I have to tell you something, and I could get in trouble, and _you_ could get in trouble if I tell you.”

“So?”

“’So?’ Zayn, I’m serious – like, we could get sued.”

Zayn turns his entire body towards Louis’, shifting from playful to serious in a heartbeat.

“Hey, we’ll figure… _whatever_ it is out, yeah? You can tell me.”

Louis sighs, gives him an assessing look, and pulls the trigger: 

“I abused access to the personal data in the Royal Mail data systems.”

Zayn just looks confused.

“Okay…” 

“There was this guy –“

“Ah.”

“Hey!” 

“Sorry, continue.”

“There was this guy – the one we drove to Holmes Chapel for, remember? – and I just- I don’t know why I did it but I saw one of his deliveries in the queue and I moved it to my queue and I delivered it to him.”

The tense curve of Zayn’s body softens as he turns back to his drink.

“Lou, jeez. You made me think you’d killed someone.”

“It’s _illegal_ , Zayn!” Louis insists.

“So?”

“So? So?! I’m going to get arrested. And now _you_ will get arrested as my accomplice! I can’t do prison, honestly. I know I act tough but… no.” He shakes his head desperately.

Zayn starts laughing.

“Stop that!”

“Lou, it’s fine. You didn’t red flag it, yeah?”

“Well… no.”

“Okay, so it’s not being seen by upper management. It’s fine.”

“But what if someone sees the weird activity and asks me about it?”

Zayn shrugs nonchalantly. “Just tell them you were ensuring his orders weren’t being mishandled again. It’s just good customer service, innit?”

“Zayn.”

“Louis.”

Louis huffs and swirls his drink, watching the ice cubes clink into and twirl around one another.

“He was super freaked when I showed up at his door," he admits.

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Well… like, he was flustered and stuff. Me too,” Louis adds. 

“Maybe he gets nervous around you.”

Louis shoots him a look.

“Maybe he wants you, too,” Zayn sing-songs. 

“Stop it.” He tries to sound stern but can’t tamp down the rise of his lips into a begrudging smile.

“You should see him again.” 

“Zayn!” Louis laughs incredulously. “There’s no way.” 

“Just think about it. You have plausible deniability now.” 

“You watch too many police procedurals.”

“Whatever.” He stands and claps Louis on the shoulder. “I have that date now, so I’m leaving you to drink alone.”

“Speaking of which, don’t get murdered.”

Zayn pinches his shoulder and Louis flails away, almost falling off of his bar stool.

“Not all online daters are murderers.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Louis waves him off. “Have fun. Text me goodbye before you get chained up in his basement.”

“Wanker.”

“Twat.”

They smile at one another as Zayn departs and Louis turns back to his drink, wondering how he got to this point in his life - pining after very cute but very legally unattainable guys, having friends who ditch him for other cute boys, and drinking alone.

\--

At 11 PM Harry is just clicking through the final page of his online bill pay, pleased to realize his budgeting has paid off this month with some leftover funds for shopping.

He has another hour before he has to head back to the hospital for another shift, so he clicks through to some of his preferred designer discount sites.

He’s decided on a few intricately patterned shirts and goes to check out – bringing him to the shipping selection page, which of course includes the Royal Mail.

His mind drifts to a bubbly laugh, small hands, blue eyes…

“ _No._ ” He mutters harshly to himself.

He snaps the lid of his laptop shut and stomps over to his wardrobe to get dressed.

Putting the money in savings is a better life investment than cute clothes, anyway.

His dark mood is not improved even by the giggles of Liam and Niall throughout their shift. It probably doesn’t help that they’re whispering together without including him. So he’s feeling not only pissed off at himself, but also left out by his only friends here.

He debates confronting them as he washes his hands before lunch. But looking at his own furrowed brow in the mirror, he thinks, _This is not me._  

 _I’m sunshine, I’m grace._ He thinks of the primary school mantra he developed upon learning those words in class. It’s silly, but it does help his plastered-on smile look a little less fake.

Of course, he comes back to Liam and Niall giggling over Niall’s phone at the lunch table, which makes his smile falter a bit.

“- type in, ‘Request cute deli-‘”

“Hey.”

They look up at him with caught-out shifty eyes, Niall abruptly dropping the hand with his phone in it into his lap.

“Hey, Harry!” Liam practically shouts.

Harry frowns. “Okay, you guys have been acting weird all day. What’s going on?”

Their twin shouts of "Nothing!" do little to alleviate his concerns.

He grunts and sits down with his tray, only entertaining their attempts at conversation when they shift back to work topics.

Tomorrow will be better, but for now – for now, Harry will embrace the misery of his own patheticness and the futility of seeing Louis ever again. 

\-- 

A couple of weeks later, Zayn invites Louis to join him and the new guy he’s seeing for a drink.

Zayn has been reticent in the past to settle down in a long-term relationship, let alone introduce Louis to the chosen few who lasted that long.

To say Louis is excited is an understatement. Even Zayn’s assertion that he needs to “be on his best behavior” hasn’t dulled his spark by the time he walks up to the bar at which they’re meeting.

The bulky guy sitting beside slight little Zayn – Liam, he’s called – seems like a bit of a stick in the mud to Louis at first. But when they start talking bands and Liam starts gesticulating wildly about a recent gig he went to, Louis can see the stars come out in Zayn’s eyes.

Maybe that’s enough for Louis.

They progress to more regular Zayn-and-Louis topics as the getting-to-know-you portion of the evening wanes.

Louis has just ceased teasing Zayn for his attempts at online dating – because it only produced overly sweet and fond looks between Zayn and Liam, yuck – when Zayn says, “Lou has been obsessing over this one guy for ages.”

“ _Zayn._ ” He knows he sounds like an arse – but really, no one else can know about this. More accomplices? They can’t all fit in the same prison bunk.

Well, maybe they can. He’s seen _Orange is the New Black_. Maybe they can start their own clique, run the place. Liam can be the muscle.

“How’d you meet him?” Liam asks.

“Uhm…” Louis looks at Zayn a bit desperately – and Zayn goes and ruins it.

“He stalked him on a delivery route.”

“ _Zayn!_ That’s not what happened,” he rushes to explain to Liam.

Thankfully Liam doesn’t look too horrified. But who knows, maybe he’s a straight edge and is just keeping it cool in order to gather details and later report Louis to the authorities.

“So… what happened?” Liam prompts after a long tense moment of Louis panicking and Zayn nudging Louis in “encouragement”.

“Ow, stop that! Fine. I had to deliver a package of his due to an issue with the initial delivery,” he starts begrudgingly. “And then I – uhm, accidentally took another couple of his packages into my queue and delivered them.” He frowns absentmindedly. “Though he wasn’t there for the last one.”

"I didn't know about that," Zayn interjects.

"Quiet, you."

“And what happened that made you like him?” Liam prompts.

Louis shrugs.

“I don’t know, he was just… cute, and he air-kissed at his mum on the phone, and he’s a doctor.” He groans and drops his head onto his arms on the table.

“It’s like _You’ve Got Mail_!”

Louis shoots his head back up to give an overly exuberant Liam a disbelieving look.

“That’s not really the plot of _You’ve Got Mail_ , babe,” Zayn tells Liam adoringly. Louis fakes a gag and gets a real elbow to the ribs.

“Well, whatever,” Liam continues on, undeterred. “You should see him again!”

“That’s what I said.”

“You both are horrible and will get me thrown in prison,” Louis moans, dropping his head back down.

“The six weeks is up, you won’t get in trouble for visiting him on the job anymore,” Zayn adds thoughtfully.

“I’m pretty sure the Royal Mail won’t see it that way,” Louis mumbles.

“Well, make sure they don’t find out, yeah?”

Louis raises his head to look at Liam again. For coming across as a stick in the mud initially, he’s quite aggressive about this whole thing. Totally trying to get Louis arrested. Probably jealous of Louis being the best friend Zayn has ever had, clearly.

“Why are you being so insistent?” he snaps, earning a sharp look from Zayn.

“Uhm…” Liam seems lost for a long moment before his eyes light up. “It’s proper romantic, innit? Like a fairy tale.”

The stars in Zayn’s eyes have turned into hearts as he turns to Liam. He doesn't even take his gaze away to say to Louis, almost dreamily, “You should do it.”

Louis looks between them, shaking his head.

“Unbelievable.”

Liam shrugs and smiles.

“Give love a chance, Louis.”

Zayn smiles. Louis groans.

He’s not going to see Harry again. He just can’t. So he'll live his life alone.

Maybe he should get a cat.

\--

A loud rapping noise startles Harry awake.

At first he thinks it’s the boiler room scene in _Titanic_ that terrified him as a child. The movie seems to have put him to sleep on the couch where he was resting before his shift starts in another hour, so that would make it much later than he thought.

But the rapping sounds again as Jack gazes up at Rose, descending the staircase.

Not the boiler room scene, then.

His addled mind finally realizes the sound is someone knocking at the door, so he lifts himself off the couch with a cracking back stretch and a scratch to his belly through his scrubs.

He shuffles to the door and opens it. 

It’s Louis.

“Hi!”

“Hello.” Louis gestures forward. “Cute scrubs.”

Harry looks down.

“Oh.” Of course, it’s the hedgehogs. “Thanks.” He continues before he can really process what he’s saying. “You delivered these to me, actually.”

Louis smiles. “Really?”

Harry can’t help his own mirroring smile. “Yep.” He looks down at Louis’ hands to look for another delivery – but sees no package.

“Are you delivering something, or…?”

“Actually…” Louis shuffles his feet and looks down. “My, uhm, truck broke down? So I was wondering if I could wait here until I get a pick up." 

“Oh.” Harry blinks.

“I mean, if it’s not too much trouble, I-"

“No!” Harry realizes he might have been too eager, if Louis' taken-aback look is anything to go by. “Uhm, no, it’s no trouble. Come on in.”

He has a few moments of panic as he leads Louis through his hallway. Did he leave dirty dishes somewhere? Will Louis think he’s weird for watching _Titanic_? They’ve reached the living room at this point, so Harry doesn’t have time to change the channel or turn the telly off. 

“Oh, I love _Titanic_!" 

Oh. That settles that, then.

“Fancy a cup of tea?” He asks. Polite host, he can do that.

“’m alright, but thank you.” Louis meanders towards the couch. “Should I…?”

“Oh! Yeah, please sit.” 

“Thanks.” 

Harry sets himself down a mere cushion-and-a-half away from the perching delivery boy. It feels like a fever dream – he’s hot and feels shivery and it seems like he’s imagining that the accidental star of a few of his recent explicit dreams sitting so close to him, after Harry was sure they’d never see each other again.

He jumps back up.

“I’m going to put the kettle on. You sure you don’t want tea? Biscuits?”

“Uhm…” Louis looks up at Harry. “You sure you don’t mind? I don’t want to, like, impose.” 

“It’s fine, really.” Harry smiles beatifically. “Herbal, green or black?”

“Black, please.” He can see Louis settle back a bit into the sofa, and that sufficiently assures him of his own status as a good host as he moves off towards the kitchen.

“Any milk or sugar?” He calls.

“Just a splash of milk, please. Thank you.”

Harry tinkers about with the tea and a plate of biscuits, carrying it all out a few minutes later. 

Louis still sits somewhat primly on the couch, but he’s definitely engrossed in the movie as well.

He looks up as Harry settles back onto the couch and sets the tray in front of them.

“How’s the doctoring been going?” Louis asks as they both reach for their cups and plates.

Harry takes a moment to blow across the surface of his tea. He debates platitudes versus honesty, and decides on the latter.

“It’s… well, it’s stressful to be honest. Even when you know about the hours and the heartbreak, it’s not quite the same as living it, you know?”

Louis nods, a considering look on his face.

“That makes sense. I think with any job you don’t know what it's really like until you’re in it.”

Harry hesitates before asking, “Do you like doing deliveries?”

“I don’t do–” Louis stops himself abruptly, then restarts. In a measured tone, like he’s practiced saying it, he says, “It’s not what I want to do, but it’s something to do right now.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

Louis sips at his drink before answering. “Well, I’d want to own my own business.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t really know, actually.” He glances at Harry with an oddly embarrassed look in his eyes, as if he's ashamed of not knowing. Harry rushes to shift the conversation in a more positive direction.

“Well, what’s something you’re passionate about?” He asks brightly.

“Erm, footie-”

“Oh, me too! What team?”

“Manchester,” Louis states with a curious glint to his eye. 

“Same.” Harry smiles big.

“Nice.” Louis smiles back. “Uhm, I like drama – like, acting.”

“Oh, really? What if you started, like, an acting school?”

Louis just laughs. “I’d have to be in plays first, though. And I used to dream of being a big star – I mean, who doesn’t? – but I’m actually okay with not being on a big stage. Seems an insane life,” he adds.

Harry nods, and then blurts, “You look like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.” Then he slaps a hand over his mouth, somewhat glad he can also partially cover his rapidly heating cheeks.

Louis sits before him, mouth agape.

“Oh, my god,” Harry mumbles past his fingers.

They stare at each other in silence.

Then Louis asks, “You think?”

“Uhm.” Harry finally drops his hand. “Yeah.” His tone sounds somewhat miserable to his own ears. God, he’s such a freak. 

“Well… thanks.”

“You’re… uhm… welcome.”

They both look down into their laps – Louis has a small smile playing across his lips that Harry doesn’t catch, with his own face twisted and red as he contemplates the physics of death by embarrassment.

“Uhm… but anyway, my point is you can, like, be whatever you want,” he tries, finally looking back up at Louis – who grins and snorts.

Harry can’t help but laugh, somewhat nervously but still providing some relief from the tension he’s feeling. “That sounds so cheesy, oh my god. I’m sorry.”

“I like cheese.”

They both snort and then laugh even more, eyes catching – and Harry realizes that maybe Louis hasn’t been laughing _at_ him, after all.

Their giggles bring their curving bodies a bit closer together, sinking into the couch as they relax.

After a few moments, Louis pipes up again.

“I, um-” His voice is shaky, Harry notices. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay…” His body straightens up of its own accord.

“I’m- I’m not a delivery person.”

Harry’s entire spine goes rigid. 

His eyes dart to his phone, lying just out of reach on the coffee table.

“Okay…” His body shifts further away, his muscles retracting with tension as adrenaline prepares him to fight. He rapidly considers the weapons at his disposal - lukewarm tea probably won't do much, but he thinks he's seen Jason Bourne take someone out with a sliver of a plate. His grandmother's china will have to serve its higher purpose.

“I’m not like a murderer or stalker or something!” Louis has started frantically waving his hands. “I- I’m not explaining this well at all.”

“No…” Harry looks at Louis warily.

“Okay. Hear me out?” Harry doesn’t give his assent, just continues to stare at him stony-faced.

“Okay. So, I do work for the Royal Mail,” he starts to fumble with his pocket, ratcheting up Harry’s heart rate immediately. But Louis pulls out a wallet rather than a weapon, and then an ID badge that he shoves towards Harry.

“But I’m more of, like, a supervisor and special cases person. Well, I’m on a rotation in their executive program that has me dealing with those cases and overseeing deliveries. And I got put onto your first case and then, uhm, accidentally onto your next one, and it kind of just snowballed. You were really cute-”

“Oh.” Harry keeps his gaze on the ID badge in his hand.

“- and I kept embarrassing myself in front of you and I wanted to, like, fix it but I just kept being a total knob and I’m-”

“Louis.”

“- really sorry, I know that was so intrusive and like a total abuse of the system so please, just, don’t sue-”

“ _Louis._ ”

Louis finally stops rambling and waving his hands, and swallows what Harry suspects is just a massive lump in his throat.

 _Fuck it_ , Harry thinks.

“I think you’re cute, too.”

Louis’ eyes meet Harry's for the first time since he started his confession.

“Really?”

Harry rolls his eyes with an exasperated smile.

“I just told you that you look like Jack Dawson.”

A small smile creeps onto Louis’ face. “Right.”

“Right.”

“So.”

“So…”

“So…” Louis lets out a nervous chuckle before continuing. “Can I take you out some time?”

Harry grins.

“I would love that.”

“Okay! Me, too. I mean, obviously." Louis clears his throat. "Excellent.”

Just then, Harry’s pager goes off, vibrating so hard it almost reaches the edge of the table. He jolts to attention and grabs it before it falls.

“Oh, crap.” He glances down at the screen. “Oh, _crap_!” He jumps up, leaving a bewildered Louis staring up at him.

“I’ve really gotta go. We– I’ve gotta go.”

“Oh.”

“But I’m not blowing you off!” Harry rushes to assure him, putting his hands on Louis' shoulders for a fleeting squeeze. “This is like, an emergency. A medical one.”

“Oh.” Louis’ face relaxes in initial relief, then scrunches back up in tension in microseconds. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, great!” Harry breaks into a grin. “It’s exciting but I can’t, like, tell you.”

“Okay…”

“But, can I– you- can I get your number? Can we go out to dinner? I’d like to go to dinner with you.”

“Tomorrow night?” Louis suggests.

“Yes.” Harry first thrusts his pager at Louis before realizing it’s the wrong device and switching hands to shove forward his phone. “Here, give me your number." 

As Louis enters it, Harry runs from the room and reemerges moments later with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Louis offers the phone back and Harry immediately clicks on his contact entry, so Louis’ phone rings in his pocket. He pulls it out and silences it, smiling all the while.

“Now you have mine!” Harry grins.

“Okay!” 

“Okay.” Then Harry glances down at his watch and his eyes widen. “But now we have to go.”

They hustle out the door, Harry locking it behind him. They turn to face one another.

Harry only realizes his shirt is all twisted from his frantic running around when Louis reaches out to straighten it.

It’s a rather domestic move, but Harry finds he doesn’t really mind.

“Which way are you?”

Harry throws a thumb behind him. “That way. You?”

Louis nods his head backwards. “The other way.”

They smile somewhat ruefully at one another, and Louis gives one last gentle tug at Harry’s shirt before stepping back and giving a cute little wave.

“Bye, then. Good luck.”

“Bye. Thank you.”

Harry waves back and starts off down the sidewalk – but turns around again with a concerned pout.

“If your truck broke down, how are you getting home, or back to work or whatever?”

Louis smiles shyly.

“Uhm, my truck didn’t really break down.”

“Oh. Right.” Huh. Quite a lot of effort he went through just to see little ol’ Harry. He smiles and waves again.

He glances back as he reaches the corner he’ll turn to get to the Tube station, and sees Louis looking at him as well.

They both duck their heads and continue on – already thinking about meeting up again, on purpose this time.

\-- 

Passengers stream past Louis as he gets onto the train a few streets away, but he pays them no mind.

He hadn’t even put on his headphones as he walked to get lost in music, feeling adrift and floaty already from what has turned out to be the best day ever.

He doesn’t snarl when someone shoves past him, or roll his eyes at the lack of seats.

He just smiles and ponders whether Italian or French food would be better for his very first date with Harry.

Without his headphones on, some of the chatter around him does make its way into his brain, though he tunes most of it out.

But one statement stands out:

“Did you hear? The Duchess has gone into labor!” 

Louis glances in the direction of an excited older woman who’s now hosting a small crowd, all crowing about the new royal prince or princess to come.

He smiles with a dawning realization and pulls out his phone to send a text to a newly-entered number.

_Good luck today – you’ll do great._

He doesn’t expect an answer, given what may or may not be about to go down at St. Mary’s.

But a minute later his pocket vibrates and jangles. He takes his phone back out.

_Thank you. ;)  Looking forward to tomorrow!!_

\--

The next evening, Louis stands with an eye on the post-work crowds clumped and shifting along the sidewalk. 

He and Harry had texted an hour earlier, Harry extremely apologetic that he’d be a bit late due to an overrun shift. But he’d since kept Louis appraised with updates on his ETA, so Louis wasn’t too fussed, he argued to himself.

The tight knot in his stomach should just shut up.

(He knows it can't talk but he imagines it shouting at him, _He’s not coming! He’s not coming!_ )

“Hiii.” It's a totally different voice he hears now, breathless and coming from behind him.

He whips around – and there is Harry in tight jeans, a flowing shirt and a fitted blazer, his curls spiraling down onto his shoulders and his chest heaving slightly.

Louis' shoulders lower slightly and his breath huffs out of his own chest through a wide smile.

“Did you run here?”

“No,” Harry smiles despite some evidently labored breaths. “Speed-walked. I’m so sorry I’m late.” His smile twists into a look of contrition. 

Louis takes the risk of placing a gentle hand on his arm, pleased that Harry doesn’t shy away at the touch. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He removes his hand again, and gestures towards the entrance to the restaurant.

But he does let his hand hover a moment and then lightly rest upon Harry’s lower back as they walk in.

They’re also pressed pretty close in the tight vestibule of the restaurant, but Harry doesn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable with the proximity. Louis might be imagining it, but he thinks Harry is leaning into his touch.

So he takes another chance and lifts himself up on his toes, now close enough to smell Harry's sweetly-scented hair. 

“Who knew hospital showers could clean one up so good?” He murmurs into Harry’s right ear.

Under his hand Harry’s back twitches, almost as if he’s suppressing a shiver.

“Thanks,” Harry returns in a hushed voice. He swallows audibly, Louis catching the bob of his Adam’s apple from his own close vantage point.

Then Harry meets his eyes, and their noses are centimetres apart.

“You look great,” he continues in the same low tone. “I meant to say.”

His eyes drop to Louis’ lips, and Louis again does not miss the movement.

“Welcome to Frivoli!” 

The bubbly brunette standing behind the reservations desk quite effectively ruin the moment with her greeting. 

Louis withholds a groan of disappointment, but can’t help but be slightly curt as they confirm the reservation and are shown to their table.

But he calms himself and smiles, thanking her profusely as she leaves them to be seated.

Jumping Harry's bones can wait until at least the dessert course.

Probably.

Harry and Louis briefly discuss their favorite Italian foods and the best choices at the restaurant, which it turns out they have both visited before.

After they’ve made it through the receipt of their drinks (and a small clinking “cheers” to the birth of a new potential sovereign, for which Louis pulls off a genius wink if he does say so himself) and ordering of food, Louis sets his wine down and folds his arms onto the table, leaning in slightly. 

“So. I know you can’t tell me much – but how was it?”

Harry grins.

“Well, I wasn’t doing a ton, honestly. Just watching and learning, they obviously had a much more experienced doctor doing the actual birth. But it was so exhilarating.”

It’s clear that he’s not just saying that – Harry’s practically glowing, with or without the candlelight.

“I mean, honestly – even if it wasn’t going to be a royal baby, it’s always just amazing to see one born, you know?”

Louis takes in the emotion on Harry’s face, and nods in growing understanding.

“Yeah, totally.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, swept up in their own imaginings. They’re further distracted by the arrival of their appetizers, and for another few minutes the silence is filled only by the _ting_ of forks tapping plates and encouragements for the other to take a bite.

Then Harry looks up from his plate, eyes slightly hooded – almost shy.

“Do you want kids?” 

Louis nods immediately. “Definitely,” he asserts. A beat, then – “You?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

They both look back down to their plates, hiding small smiles.

\--

After splitting the bill down the middle – despite Louis’ protests – and deciding that gelato from a shop around the corner is the only veritable dessert option, they wander back towards the furthest Tube station, in wordless agreement that a few more minutes together are preferable to a faster journey home. 

They’ve taken to poking fun at one another for their odd meeting, which has relaxed both of their fears – of lawsuits and awkwardness alike – considerably.

But as they get closer and closer to their point of parting, Louis schools himself into seriousness. He scoops the last bite of his chocolate hazelnut scoop into his mouth and holds a hand out for Harry’s also just-emptied cup, and throws both into an adjacent bin.

He swallows and then turns back to Harry.

“But, really. Thanks for not thinking I’m a creepy weird stalker.”

Harry just shakes his head.

“It’s really okay, I mean-” He breaks off with a guffaw of a laugh, then continues in a mumbled rush. “I sort of – consideredorderingstuffjusttoseeyouagain.” He throws a hand over his face in obvious embarrassment as Louis looks at him incredulously, before barking out a laugh himself. 

“We’re idiots.”

“Pretty much.”

Their steps slow even further as the entrance to Harry’s Tube station appears. They step aside on the pavement to let others pass, and their bodies curve into one another without hesitation.

Harry peers down at Louis.

“I had a really great time tonight.”

Louis nods, biting down on his lower lip. “Me, too.”

Harry’s eyes drop yet again to Louis’ mouth, and Louis decides to take one last chance. It doesn’t feel like much of one at this point – he’s pretty sure they’re on the same page.

He releases his lip from between his teeth and tilts his chin up minutely, eyes jumping up to Harry’s and then down to his plush mouth. 

And as they both lean in slowly, eyes closing and hearts beating hard, Louis thinks, _This was so worth the risk._

 


End file.
